Hande hoch!

Saturday 1:20 a.m.

All you are is the result of all the thoughts you've had.

Experience is proceeded by mind, led by mind, and produced by mind.

One of my favourite things is to listen to the CDs of the Dhammapada at the foot of the auld maw's bed as she lies in the lion posture, dozing off and coming to. God knows what she makes of it, but she loves it.

So I had to lie flat out today due to gauching ... this is a junky term for crashing and coming to .. today since I came over all tired after the cycling through Lanarkshire. But the cycling through Lanarkshire today was better than it's ever been. I was calm. I was not anxious. I was mantra-ing away there in the moment. Thankful that because of the handful of goji berries I have eaten in this life that at almost sixty I could cycle this way at all. (Some people who don't really speak Scottish, who might be from abroad but speak English, don't do irony. Don't do humour. Never take it literally. Do I have to say that, Jack? Well, this is the Koran of the 22nd century, so be clear, Hotboy, be clear!)

So the auld maw was well pleased that Biff McDuck had helped produce her eleventh or twelfth great grand child. I was trying to count it up this evening. I think she has about twenty nine or thirty descendants running around the planet just now. Go forth and multiply. That's a lot of people.

I haven't got a problem with hating English people. I don't hate anybody, but I do enjoy sporting rivalries. That's not really true. I hate the huns. I don't like the British National Party. I don't like the knuckle dragging Rangers supporter who hate us back, but all in all I try not to hate anyone, and understand what a hard time it is for everyone to become someone, even for the huns.

Uber alles! Uber alles!

In a couple of days time, the Little Englanders (who were never as smart as the Chilly Jockos) play at footie against the Fatherland. Because of Adolf Hitler, I do not have as many relatives as I might have had. We'd be talking not one, but two football teams of great grand children of the auld maw by this time. So on Sunday, when the three lions take to the park against the nazi ice warriors, what can I say?

Come on, the huns! Come on, the huns!